


Off Screen D&D

by an_awful_disaster



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, D&D, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Half-orc, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tieflings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-27 22:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30129723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_awful_disaster/pseuds/an_awful_disaster
Summary: Y’all already know what it is
Relationships: Collins Everet/Brish Lightfoot
Kudos: 5





	1. The First Date

“Is all of this really necessary, Brish?” Collins questioned, hand resting delicately on that to his companion’s, “I do appreciate all of this, but we could always hold off the first date for a few days, until we are both of a sounder body and mind.”

“And waste all of this soup I’ve made up for us? No way is that going to happen, Linny.” Brish finished ladling out the food, a light, broth-based vegetable soup, and broke apart the bread, smiling as the steam hit his face. 

Collins covered his mouth as he heard the childish nickname, thanking the gods above that Brish had never used it in front of the adventurers, fearing their immature reactions. All except for, perhaps, Evangeline and Alanis, who have proven to remain level headed in the worst of times, besides their constant need to glare at foods and furniture or discuss the weather without end. Regardless, he could expect only light teasing from them, and incessant laughter from the rest.

Brish placed the first dish on the bedside table, along with a cup of water, and took the second in his hands, settling comfortably on the end of the bed. Collins leaned back, resting his head on the board of the bed as exhaustion pulsed through him, as if it’s infested his very being. Bouts of this have come and gone ever since that awful hag drained him. One of his only joys is that it shouldn’t ever happen again, to his knowledge. He needs to bring it to the nobles that they need to invest more in the protection of the outer districts. 

Looking over, Brish noticed his companion’s discomfort and pushed aside his own tray, stood up, and moved closer to the Tiefling, whose eyes were drifting closed. He watched as one of his shaky hands moved to cover his mouth once again, muffling the sound of his uneven breaths, the other clenching the sheets atop him. 

“Hey, Collins, can I touch you right now? I just need to make sure you're okay, alright?” The response to the question took a few moments, longer than Brish would like in any situation, but eventually he received a slight nod from the man across from him. With this confirmation, the baker’s hand first reached for Collins's head, just to check for a fever. He was a bit warm, but no warmer than he had been at for the past few days, so there wasn’t too much to worry about there. Next, he pressed two of his fingers to the bottom of his friend’s neck, just to check his pulse, which, after counting for a few seconds, was definitely slower then normal.

This wasn’t the best situation, was it?

“Okay, this is fine, you’re fine,” Brish lied, running a hand through his hair while the other cupped his date’s cheek, “You have a bit of a fever, but that’s how you’ve been for awhile now, so you know that's nothing new, but your heartbeat is also slowing down, which is not as good.” The druid waited for any sort of response from the other man, but none came. Checking again, Brish found that the man was still breathing and his heart was still beating.

“Can you say something to me right now? It can be about anything, or in any language, I just want you to talk as loudly as you can, okay?”

After a long pause, the silence was punctured by an airy whisper, “ _ I potest experiri. _ ”

Infernal. Brish could work with Infernal. “Yup, just keep talking!”

As Collins began his next sentence, Brish quickly rushed out of the room, heading quickly over to the soup shrine. “ _ Pulchra es, amica mea. Numquid factum cito ut diceret 'amor'?” _

“Whatever you say.” Frantically, the man looked for the correct soup jar, thanking Sirrion for his guidance when he found it. He came back into the guest room as soon as he found it, popping off the lid and grabbing one of the spoons that they were going to use just before. He held up a spoonful of the soup to Collins, who was now muttering under his breath, in the same tone that he always had when he was overthinking something. “Can you open your mouth for me quickly? Just long enough to eat this?”

As Collins noded, Brish helped him sit up better, putting down the jar of soup in exchange for his companion’s head, holding him so he could better eat. It reminded him of when he found the stray kittens, and the priests and priestesses let him take them in, and he had to feed them all by hand.

This honestly was like that, just on a larger scale. And with no cats. And with soup. And with more stress. Maybe they aren’t actually alike at all.

Looking at his boyfriend now, as he chews the spoonful of the chicken noodle soup, Brish sees a person that he needs to spend his life with, at all costs. Sune is so wonderful for sending people their soulmates like she’s done now. Just so wonderful.

* * *

Just so wonderful. Sune is so wonderful for sending people their soulmates like she’s done now. Collins sat huddled in the corner of the room, his knees drawn up to his chest and eyes pointedly looking away from the door, or, more pointedly, the small window where she was looking through. His sharp features looked only more pronounced in the harsh light, but gaunt by the sickness that still wracked his body, something that he made no words to explain. 

“You know, darling, your eyes look truly ravishing in the light down here. Perhaps you can glance over my way so I can see them better?” Aria pleaded, lips caught in a delicate pout. Sure, it had been only a day or so, but he couldn’t just keep ignoring her like this! That’s just cruel.

There has to be some way to make him respond, or look, or even just glance her way. They are enroute to getting married, after all, and all good spouses need to love and respect their fiance. 

“What sort of people do you know in your district? I’ve heard that you spend a good bit of your time around a certain baker, yes?” At the mention of his little friend, Collins looked over to her, more alert then he’s been since he got here. 

Bingo.

“Who told you about him. What did you do?” His voice was hoarse from disuse, scratching like a fork on porcelain. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, honey. I haven’t done a thing to him, but I do know of him, and of your little ‘date’ a few nights ago.” Of course, a blush creeped across her companion's face. “You’re with me, Collins, not him! This has been planned out for years, and you aren't going to end this because of one man!”

“How do you know about that?”

“I’m a noble, darling, and nobles have their ways of finding anything out,” she said, resting her hands on the wooden bar, “So this is what we’re going to do. You are never returning to that district or visiting that man again. In return, I will make sure that he stays safe and sound. Maybe he’ll find another man, but I’m sure that they won’t be better than you, honey!”

She turned her back on their first date. She didn’t wait for a response. She knew that she didn’t need to. She knew what his answer would be.

He’s so thoughtful like that.


	2. Mourning Our Loss, but Bringing Loss Back

They left the house almost as quickly as they arrived, as always, leaving Brish just as he was, that being, in hysterics kneeling beside his best friend’s death bed. He had just been alive and awake and happy enough to be here, but now he’s gone off to wherever followers of Celestian go after death. And where was Brish when it all happened? Being made the butt end of a prank, that’s where. 

God, he’s pathetic. 

It felt like it took hours to gather himself enough to think again. Start with what you know and work backwards to find a solution. Collins always told him that when he had an issue, and it still seems appropriate now. He was always so smart like that.

Start with what you know. Lifting his head, Brish looked to the face of his friend. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that Collins was just sleeping, his long black hair splayed out on the pillow and an arm draped casually over his chest. If only that were the case. Turning away, the half-orc blinked the tears from his eyes, not wanting to take however long to gain his senses again. 

Collins is dead. That’s what he knows. The solution is to bring him back by any means necessary. 

The nobels wouldn't do it, that much Brish was sure of, or they would have brought Aria back as soon as they saw her dead. If they wouldn’t resurrect a duchess, then they wouldn’t resurrect a duke, and Brish definitely couldn’t afford a resurrection spell of any kind. 

What options are left after that? Necromancy? 

Or vampires.

Is there a coven in Lumheart? How would he find them if there were? Isn’t this illegal? Why is he considering it in the first place?

Okay, okay, he needs to calm himself down quickly. Taking a few deep breaths, he clears his head, and begins to think. Most major cities have a coven, but they are likely only composed of a handful of vampires. Most of that handful would be vampire spawn, who can’t convert people into vampires themselves, so the goal is to find a proper vampire. So is the plan to wait until its night? That feels like it’s so far away. It’s only about two in the afternoon now, so it’ll take hours for it to get dark, and even when it does, how does a person go about finding a vampire coven? Asking around seems like a bad idea, especially when handling a corpse in the middle of the night. 

Maybe they’ll come to him? That seems even less likely than searching for them. But if they found him, then he could explain the situation to them, and they could come with him here, right? They have to help him. They have to help Collins.

Brish places one of his hands onto the lifeless chill of his friend’s own, face resolute in his plan. 

Collins will be coming back, no matter what it takes.

* * *

Who knew that all it takes to find a vampire coven is making a meat pie?

It was really just something he wanted to attempt, not something that he thought would work. He’s used the recipe before, and all it did was remind him of his time in the church at Dalor. The smell of blood of the wounded filled the air there, and this pie always had the same smell.

He had never liked to make it, but vampires are drawn to the smell of blood, so it had to be worth it, right? And it was. 

It had only been about thirty minutes since he had put it out on the windowsill when he heard a clatter by the side of the house. Hearing this, Brish turned from his friend to where he heard it from, slowly getting up and moving to the source of the sound. The window.

Peering out into the night, he saw a person looking around wildly, getting closer and closer to his house until their eyes met. She glanced down at the pie, then back up to him, but he had already left her line of sit and moved to the front door, which opened with a creak. Her head snapped over to him, looking at him with caution.

“Can you help me?” the baker asked, keeping his gaze steady.

“I could ask the same question to you, mate.”

“You’re a vampire?”

“What of it?”

“I need your help.”

“What’s the pie made of?”

“It’s a meat pie, mostly with beef, but there’s some bear meat that I got at the butcher not too far from here.”

She hummed in acknowledgement, looking at the pastry, “It smells good.” He nods. “Why do you need my help?”

“Come inside, it’s cold out here.” 

She looked back to the man, eyes wary. “How can I know I can trust you.”

“I don’t know. I’m not going to do anything. I just need help,” he pleaded, trying to keep his voice stable. 

She first took a look inside the window, then back to the man, and finally nodded, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Brish stepped aside to let her in first, then closed the door. She glanced around the main room with a slight smile.

“It’s nice in here. Warm.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been a fan of the cold.”

“Where’s the trouble?”

Brish nodded, leading her to the guest room and opening the door, where he again saw Collins. He hadn’t moved.

“Is he dead?” He gave no verbal response to her question, nor any signal of having heard her. He looked away.

“I need you to help him.”

“You want me to turn him into a vampire?”

“I need him back.”

There was an eternal silence as the woman stared at Collins, concern in her eyes. “That’s the Duke.”

“Yeah.”

“Why is he here?”

“He’s sick.”

After another pause, she stepped closer to the bed, kneeling beside the body. “I’ve never turned somebody before.”   
“You need to now.”

She nodded and grabbed his wrist, hesitating for a moment before biting down. Brish turned away.

It felt like an eternity before she spoke, “I need a knife.”

“Why?”

“He needs some of my blood, too.”

Brish got a knife.

* * *

It took hours for it to work. Brish never slept. He nursed a cup of coffee in his hands, waiting to see his friend again, waiting to talk to him again. 

He gasped, hands gripping the bed sheets as he sat up, his dark hair tumbling onto his shoulders.

There was Collins, alive and well.

“Collins! Oh, thank goodness, I was so worried that you would- I’m so happy you're back!” Brish set down the mug as his tears started to flow. He then threw his arms around Collins, holding him in a tight hug. “I missed you so much, Linny.”

“What? Brish, stop, what’s happened? I haven’t gone anywhere,” he returned the hug, “What’s wong?”

“Do you feel okay?”

“I- of course not, I just got drained by another hag, Brish, you know that.”

“Do you feel any pain anywhere?”

“Well, my arm I suppose. It’s light, though, barely anything.” Collins looked down to his arm examining it in the candle light. “That, and I do feel somewhat lightheaded, but that isn’t pain, of course.”

“Maybe you should eat something? Are you hungry?”

“You never ask questions like this unless you are panicking. Why are you panicking?”

“I’m fine, Collins, just another health scare, like the one on our date. It’s all fine.”

“What time is it?”

“Do you have your watch?” Nodding, Collins pointed over to where his coat was draped over the back of the chair. Brish quickly grabbed the watch and handed it to his friend, who opened it.

“It’s fifteen minutes passed midnight. We should get back to sleep.”

“I think you should eat something first.”

“I don’t feel hungry right now, thank you.”

“You will be, though. Can you just try to eat?”

Sighing, Collins nodded, “Fine. If you really think that it is necessary.”

“Great!” With that, Brish extended his arm to his friend, and waited, growing confused as Collins pushed off the bed to exit the room. “Where are you going?”

“Were we not going to get food?”

“I- Well I thought that this would be more of an instinctual thing then an explain thing…”

“What do you mean by that? What needs to be explained to me?” Now it was the Tiefling’s turn to be confused as his friend led him back to sit on the bed.

“Collins, I really don’t know how to best explain this, but the adventurer’s pulled me away from you for a while. During that time you died, and-”

“What?” The single word hushed the other man immediately. “I… I’m not upset. You know that, Brish. How did- No, how… I need a moment to gather my words.” The baker waited for his friend, sitting patiently. It took a minute or so for Collins to continue, his voice slow and level, “How did you bring me back? What spell was used?”

“I don’t think you're going to like this part very much.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It was less of a spell and more of magic, to start.”

“Oh, gods above what did you do?” Abruptly, the duke stood, hands coursing through his hair. Brish stood along with him.

“You’re a vampire-”

“Holy shit,” Collins began, “What the fuck Brish!”

“What, did you expect me to have another way to bring you back! If the nobles wouldn’t bring back Aria, they wouldn’t bring you back either.”

“That’s not the point of this and you know that. Why was the first thought for a cost-effective resurrection turning me into a vampire?”

“I don’t know, okay! I was frantic and scared and hysterical and I didn’t know what to do, okay! All I was thinking about was getting you back, that’s all I cared about, Collins!” Brish took a breath, stray tears running down his face, “I need you, Collins, so, so much more than you know. And if this was all I had to bring you back, then I needed to do it.”

“It isn’t your choice to make, Brish. This was never your choice to make!” he screamed, sobs cutting through his words, “What if I wanted to die? What if I wanted to be gone-“

“You don’t get to say that. You can’t say that and you know it!” The half-orc shook his head, “You can’t keep living your life waiting to die, Lin. It’s like you're excited for it! What you want isn’t healthy and you know that!”

“You have no right to tell me that!” Furious, Collins grabbed Brish by the collar and forced him up the wall. Orange sparks danced up and down his arms as his breathing stopped. It took the vampire a few moments to realize what he had done, and, as soon as he had, he lowered the half-orc back into the ground, the sparks fading as the Tiefling shed silent, warm tears through gasps of air.

Brish shook his head, looking down at his friend. “I’m here for you, Collins. I always will be, but we both know that this-“ he waved wildly at the other man, “-isn’t healthy. You need help, and that’s okay. I’ll help you get help, or be the help when you need it, but we need to talk, and we need to listen, and we need to be there, okay? We can’t keep going on like this.”

Collins nodded, sitting back down on the side of the bed, Brish following suit. “I… This is irrelevant to what you just said, but I no longer have a heartbeat.”

“Really?”

“Really. I had never noticed it before, but it had a steady rhythm to it. Now it’s just echoing silence.”

Brish looked to his friend, nodding, “I’m going to help you in any way I can, Collins. I need you to know that.”

They both sat together in their perfect silence for a few eternal moments. “I can hear your’s. Your heartbeat, that is.”

“What?”

“It’s not loud, but it’s there.”

“Oh.”

“Why were you insisting that I eat earlier?”

“The person who turned you said that you would be hungry right after being turned.”

“Ah.”

“Are you?”

A momentary pause. “No.”

“Collins.”

“Hm?”

“You’re not a good liar.”

“Oh.”

Brish looked to see his friend face better, even though he had pointed his face away from the half-orc. He was clearly eating through the inside of his mouth, one of his common nervous habits, and grasping at his collarbone, a second habit of his. “You don’t want to eat.” It wasn’t a question.

“No.”

“You need to.”

“Yes.”

“Okay, so we need to get you to eat, and the only way to get you comfortable with eating like this is by doing it. Uh, the person I spoke about earlier showed me the best way to do it. She said that you should bite here-” Brish pointed to a spot just below his wrist where there was less bone and more flesh, “-to get the most blood for the least pain. She also said that you need to eat frequently, like, once or twice a day, and that your sleep schedule will get all mucked up, but that you can fix that with time and patience.”

Collins listened to Brish’s words, leaning to see where he had pointed, and tapping on the spot on his own arm. With all of the information in his mind, he nodded, hand coming up to his hair.

“So-” Brish again held his arm out in front of his friend, “-I guess all that’s left is to jump in.”

“I suppose so.”

They both waited in the night, Brish looking at Collins’s face while Collins looked at Brish’s arm.

“Collins.”

“Hm?”

“You aren’t doing anything.”

“I know.”

Retracting his arm, the baker sighed, “What do you think is holding you back!”

“You’re Brish.”

Confusion flickered across his features at those words. “Yeah?”

“You don’t deserve this. I shouldn’t- I can’t. I can’t.”

“You need to at least try.”

“You’re Brish.”

Nodding, Brish looked to his friend again, “I know. I know.” After a quick moment of thought, Brish continued, “But you need to do this. This is a safe, controlled space, so if something goes wrong here we can fix it, but the same can’t be said if we do it somewhere else. I am Brish, but you need to do this, okay?”

Collins looked from the blank space where the arm was to the face of his friend, nodding as his eye darted off quickly. Brish extended his arm once more, and braced himself for what would come.

Taking a deep breath, Collins plunged his teeth into Brish’s arm, just at the spot where he had indicated.

At first he felt like a fool, his jaw clenched around his friend’s tense arm, but it took only seconds for the taste of something… heavenly to meet his tongue. Like a warm nectar.

He felt himself slipping into a trance, the blood coming naturally after the initial puncture. All he had to do was accept it. Something touched his head, a repetitive motion to it. He kept both of his hands wrapped around the arm. Something moved around him, boxing him in place. A thing to worry himself with later. 

A light tug came on one of the hands holding the food in place. What was that? It came again only moments later, a bit harder. Then again, until the food was pulling away. By the time that he had processed that, it was gone.

That just wouldn’t do. He saw it move to get closer. Attacking. He tried to go first, but it got to him, pushing him down onto the… ground? Grounds are not this soft. Or warm. Where is he?

Collins stopped his struggle to get up. Brish pinned him down. In any other circumstance he would blush, but that reaction seemed inappropriate now.

“Are you with me, Linny?”

He nodded the best he could, already feeling the excess blood start to dry on his face.

“Collins, I don’t think the orange sparks are a good thing.” Brish sat up, releasing Collins from his hold, the vampire sitting up in tandem. The half-orc opened his arms to the man across from him.

“I don't want to do that again.” Collins collapsed into Brish’s offered hug. “I didn’t feel like a person. I felt like an animal.”

“I’m sorry, Collins,” Brish whispered, combing his hand through Collins’s hair, “I’m so, so sorry.”


	3. Murder of a Duke and Duchess

“This is so wrong.” Aria looked to the man beside her, frown deepening on her cheeks. “What made us think that this was at all a good plan?”

“You want power, and I and the other Lords and Ladys want those two gone, so I believe that this is happening on a majority vote,” Shard said in a hush, finishing off the tea with the murky red liquid. A gift, or so she said, from a friend. “Besides, we can push up your little ‘arrangement’ with the man of your affections after they die, yes?”

“How do you mean?” Aria questioned, a blush creeping onto her face at the thought of her love.

“Well, tragedy breeds a need for comfort and celebration, correct? And I doubt the people of the city would turn down the date being pushed up by a few days.”

Aria felt her heart flutter at the thought of their marriage. It would be extravagant and majestic, her in a lacy ballgown, and Collins, her beloved, in his most formal attire. They would sweep across the dance floor, holding each other close, and he'd lean in to kiss her as the music died down. Oh, yes, it would just be perfect.

“Perhaps this is for the better then? After all, who can deny true love from happening sooner as opposed to-”

“Never is how your parents would like it to be, you know,” the older lady interrupted, cutting the girl off short, “They disagree with everything that you’ve worked towards here. They want to jeopardize your life with that man. I’m sure that you won’t take that lying down, will you?”

Oh, how Aria has grown to loathe her parents. Her and Collins are meant to be, as if it was written in the stars by Celestian himself. He is her everything, and each time that she has seen his intelligent eyes meet hers, seen his dark hair be arranged into his messy braids, and heard his eloquent voice speak about who even knows what, her heart swoons. But her parents, oh her parents! True love is not to be stifled. There is no time for courtship or courtesy. No, true love needs, nay, requires hard and fast action, no matter what the cost.

Besides, her parents were in an arranged marriage, too! It’s the lot that every noble is given, honestly, and they always say that they want her to follow her heart and choose her lover for herself, and now she has and everybody is upset with her! Well, not everybody. Really, the other nobles and her parents are the only people that really know. Only a handful of guards know what’s happening, and they are trusted to stay silent.

She’s found her happiness, and Collins will learn that he has, too. He doesn’t like the place that he’s staying in too much, but Aria has gotten him the best bed, sheets, and food that there is. Sure, he’s refusing to use any of it, but that isn’t her fault! If he has chosen to not use what he’s been given, then there isn’t anything that she can do!

“Here-” Shard pushed the serving tray over to Aria, “-give these to your parents. They should be upstairs in their room. From what I’ve heard, they’re still sick.”

“I thought we were having a servant do this?”

“There’s been a change of plans.”

Aria lifted the tray, it’s weight heavy on her heart. Could she really do this? If she backs down, then it’s her head next, right?”

“Don’t think of this as murder.” Shard said, clasping her hands behind her back, “Think of it as a change of hands. Remember what Zavier said-”

“I know what he said, ma’am. I’ll be going now. Have a lovely night.”

“You too.” With that, Aria turned and walked out of the door, feeling Shard’s ever watching eyes follow her the whole way. She made sure not to spill any of the tea as she ascended the stairs and turned the corner. Knocking on the door, Aria prayed to whatever god or goddess would listen for them to be asleep or tell her to go away, but no.

“Come in.” Her father.

She opened the door, the tray held stable as her hands begged to shake and tremble.

“I made you both tea. I really hope that you’re doing better.”

“What have we told you about contractions?” Her mother. “They are not proper, young lady.”

“Your mother is right, Aria-” the Duke said, stifling a cough, “-but tea sounds lovely. Thank you.”

“Yes, darling, thank you.”

She gave both of them the teacups and saucers, bowed, and left the room, tray held under her arm now. 

She did not leave the door.

She did not leave the door as she heard them talking about the strange flavor.

She did not leave the door as she heard them beginning to cough uncontrollably. 

She did not leave the door as she heard their screams of agony as they begged for death.

She did not leave the door as she didn’t hear anything.

She left the door as Shard smiled her way from down the hall.


	4. In The Night

Glancing around the heart of the tavern, Rolma sighed. Who knew that those rowdy adventurers would be so missed just three days after they left. Sure, they would come back, they always do, but having regulars was always a nice thing, and he had started to get attached to those kids, even if they had a gambling ring operating upstairs.

A few late night stragglers had come in, still sitting and sipping at their drinks at the bar. They had all been cut off for the night at this point, so it was a matter of them just needing to finish their drinks before he could close up for the night, thank goodness. His wife had already returned home, so had the new chef, and he got lonely when left all by himself for too long. It was always a nice part of the business, having people around at all times, but if they never get to try and know you then there isn’t much of a point in it.

One by one, those that were left trailed out, paying their tab for the night. The last day of the work week always meant that he stayed in a bit later, but the time was worth its weight in gold. Literally. He earns a lot more when the tavern crawlers come in, even if it's just for a quick pint. 

Regardless, he began his nightly routine: sweeping the floors, wiping off the counter, tidying up the kitchen, hearing a scream a few blocks down, and washing the glasses. 

Wait, what?

Rolma’s head shot up from the basin of water at the sound of a shriek in the distance, no more than four or five blocks into the city. Sure, Micaspark had it’s crime issues, but that scream sounded more like murder then petty theft. Putting down the glass that he was holding, Rolma rushed to the back of the counter, reached under, and pulled out his weapon, a shiny firearm he made himself. From there, he grabbed his keys and ran out the front door, quickly locking the door and shoving the ring into his pocket. Then, he ran to the source of the sound.

It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for. An elvish man, no older than Rolma himself, keeping a shaking hand pressed against the base of his neck, maybe more on the shoulder. Even in the dark night, the tavern master could both see and smell the blood on this poor soul.

“You need any help there, mate?” Rolma questioned, kneeling down next to him.

“Yeah, if you can,” the man responded, tears streaming down his face, “I haven’t got much in terms of first-aid stuff back in my place.”

“Alright, my tavern isn’t too far from here if you think you can walk.”

“I’m up for it. Whatever that was snagged my shoulder, so I’m fine to walk a bit of a ways.”

“That’s good. Make sure you’re keeping pressure on that.” Rolma helped to man onto his feet and let him lean on his body for more support. “It’s a nice thing that they didn’t get the neck. That would be a disaster on your end.”

“Yeah, I do have that to be grateful for.”

The pair walked in relative silence all the way into the tavern, where Rolma sat the man down on a stool and grabbed the first aid kit, putting the gun back in it’s spot. He opened the pack, pulling out the cotton towelettes, bandages, and rubbing alcohol. From there, the tavern keeper started to clean the wound. It was clearly a stab wound, or maybe more of a slice based off of how shallow it was, and it was right on the spot where the shoulder touches the neck. Any higher and this man would be a goner.

“This could have ended up a lot worse, son.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Did you see the person that got you?”

“I think so, but it couldn’t have been right. It looked like it was Duke Hearthn, but obviously that's wrong. Maybe just a doppelganger?”

At that comment Rolma paused. He had finished with cleaning the blood off. The mark was deep, but not deep enough to have been a proper stab, more like a slice. It was a near perfect arch, too. Obviously it was intentionally done this way.

“Well, the good news is that it doesn’t look too bad past all of the blood, but it does look like that guy had it all planned out, so we might be seeing him around.” Rolam took his time packing up what was left of the first aid kit. He had never expected to use it outside of a cut in the kitchen or a tavern brawl. “I don’t think you should be going out again tonight. How’s about I get you a room, no charge, and you just rest up?”

“That sounds, nice, thanks.”

Rolma nodded and handed the man the key.

Poor fella.

* * *

He left the next day, returning the key to Rolma as he got breakfast out and ready for everybody, and that was all that the tavern master thought would come of it, but it wasn’t. Three days later, this time when the bar was still open, no later than 7:30, another shriek went out in the air, loud enough for all of the bar’s patrons to hear it over the clammer of food, drinks, and talking.

Rolma was faster out this time, along with four or so of the people from the bar, who were either curious or frightened by the penetrating shout. He and the others arrived quickly, seeing a dwarvish woman cradling her arm through sobs on the ground. Rolam had brought the first aid kit just in case, so he knelt down beside her, “Hello there, ma’am. Would you mind showing me your arm right quick?”

She nodded, showing it to him. It was the same marking as last time, just on the upper arm now. He started cleaning and dressing the wound. One of the people that came out with the bartender, a Tiefling with mint green skin and silvery grey hair, knelt down too, “Did you see who did it, darling?” The dwarfish woman nodded her head, choking back sobs. “Alright, can you describe them?”

“I saw them, I did! It was the leader of the Kobold tribe just a few hours over, all angry and looking for a fight!”

“Really?” the bartender questioned. That group almost always stayed to themselves, and had a good relationship with the people of Lumheart. If any of them did this, especially their leader, they know that tensions would rise quickly between the two groups.

“Yeah! Seemed a bit tall for a Kobold, though. Maybe a Lizardfolk?”

“Huh.” The Teifling looked to Rolma as the other three that were there looked down at the three on the ground. The bartender continued, “That doesn’t sound much at all like them. Are you sure?”

“As sure as a summer day is long!”

“How tall would you say they were? You mentioned that their height was odd earlier.”

“I don’t know, five feet? I’ve never been a good estimator.”

“That sounds far too tall to be a Kobold, ma’am. Not that I’m doubting your claim at all. Maybe we should take you home?” Rolma finished with the bandages, tying them off as he always had. He had never thought that they would come in handy like they had over the past days, but he wasn’t going to complain. At this point there was nothing left in the kit other than a few cotton swabs and some other odds and ends, sadly.

“Oh, I can get myself home fine. Thank you for the help, and sorry for all that shouting.”

“It’s more than fine. That was a stressful thing you just went through, and a bit a’ yellin’ ain’t nothing to be ashamed by in times like these.”

“Alright, well, thank you again.” With that she stood and began towards her house, still cradling her arm.

Rolma’s going to have to get to the bottom of this.


End file.
